


Rules of Engagement

by Karasuno Volleygays (ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor)



Series: Sportsfest 2018 [99]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen, Peasant Yanagi, Violence, War, Warrior King Yukimura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 18:10:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor/pseuds/Karasuno%20Volleygays
Summary: Yukimura's forces take on those of neighboring St. Rudolph's, and after the day is won, Yukimura finds fascination in one lone holdout fighting for his life in a hopeless situation. He decides that is a man he needs to know.





	Rules of Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Sportsfest 2018 bonus round 4. It also goes with my other Yukimura story, Flowers and Wine.

Thick furs cling to Yukimura’s shoulders as his horse trots to the middle of the clearing ahead. It’s a courtesy he extends to his imminent opponents on the battlefield. He addresses not his foe’s generals, but instead their armies.

The rules are simple; any man who lays down his weapon and leaves the fight will be granted full citizenship within Yukimura’s kingdom of Rikkai, protected from their former lord the moment they pledge their fealty to their new king. If they do not, each and every one of them will be slaughtered, burnt to ash, and their remains dumped on the doorstep of the king they seem so willing to fight for until their dying breath.

Yukimura has no taste for the latter, but after the first few rounds of the policy when it was initiated a few years prior, he doesn't find it necessary very often. Once word had spread both of his mercy before the battle as well as his ruthlessness after, few of the peasants forced to fight for fat, lazy noblemen are willing to part with their lives for the sake of someone else’s even fatter purse.

Riding up in front of the ragtag armies of Saint Rudolph, side-stepping their oily snake of a general entirely, Yukimura watches his heralds filter into the horde to carry his voice so it may be heard by every man.

“Your lords ask you to fight for them,” he says, his soft voice aberrant to the mood of the venue. His heralds repeat in perfect unison. “They ask you to leave your homes, your jobs, and your families to fight their wars, yet not a single one of you will see so much as a sliver of gold for your trouble or your lives. How many of your children will wake up tomorrow missing a parent because someone decides it to be so?

“Lay down your weapons and declare me your new lord, and only the willing shall follow me into battle and be paid accordingly for your service and your sacrifices.”

Yukimura tosses away his cloak to a waiting valet and spreads his arms wide. “Look at me. I bear the scars of battles fought alongside those who are loyal to me. I will ask for no man’s life who I would not give my own for in return.”

The opposing army is dead silent, and Yukimura smiles to himself. He finishes his practiced speech. “Follow me into victory. All you have to do is lay down your weapons and leave. Once the battle is finished, you can collect them and go home.”

As the last of his words are relayed through the crowd like an echo by his heralds, Yukimura trots over to the army’s commander, Mizuki. He unsheaths his sword and trains it on Mizuki’s throat with a smile that makes his target shiver. “If you stop a single man from leaving, I’ll remove your guts and make you watch until you die.” The sword drifts down to Mizuki’s groin. “Or maybe I’ll start here.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Mizuki challenges, but his voice waves under the weight of Yukimura’s sword and his stare.

Yukimura quirks a brow. “You’ll find that there is little I do not dare.” When men filter out of Mizuki’s ranks and the man makes no move to stop them, Yukimura lowers his sword. “Excellent decision.”

Mizuki watches with horror mounting on his face while two thirds of his army goes back the way they came, spears and swords and axes clattering to the ground in their wake.

Yukimura turns his horse and murmurs to Mizuki while he passes, “When this is all over, I’ll hang your head from my belt.”

The battle doesn’t last long. Before sunset, only a few men in Mizuki’s army remain alive. As promised, Mizuki’s hair is knotted around Yukimura’s belt, slapping against the horse’s ribs as blood and then some dribbles down the length of Yukimura’s boot.

Very few of the opposing army are left standing, and Yukimura’s soldiers hunt them down one by one. However, one in particular catches his eye. Nearby, one lone man is fending off half a dozen of Yukimura’s well-trained swordsmen with one battered old blade. He drifts over toward the scene, eyes not leaving the spectacle even when the man is finally knocked into the blood-soaked grass.

A sword is raised to end the struggle, but Yukimura calls out, “Wait.” Immediately, his soldiers stand down and step aside as Yukimura dismounts to approach the man draped on the ground even while straining to fight back even more.

It would truly be a crime to let a man with this sort of passion to be wasted on an execution.

“Stand him up.” Yukimura finds himself face to face with the man, jet black hair obscuring eyes that spark with will. “What is your name?”

“Yanagi Renji.” Yanagi doesn’t fight against the arms holding him back, but he doesn’t flinch at Yukimura’s presence or make a move to acknowledge that he is standing before a king.

Yukimura is captivated. “Tell me, Yanagi Renji, why do you continue to fight even when you’re inevitably going to be defeated?”

Yanagi meets his gaze and answers bluntly, “If I do not fight, I will die. If I do, there is still a minute chance of escaping. They may be slim odds, my lord, but they are the only ones that offer a result other than death.”

A laugh bubbles from Yukimura’s chest, and he waves off his men. “Let him go.” To Yanagi, he says, “You are an uncommon man, Yanagi. Take a knee, and you’ll not only live but have the chance to fulfil a greater purpose.”

“I’m just an apothecary, my lord. How can I serve a king?”

Gripping Yanagi’s shoulder, Yukimura chuckles. “Nobody is ‘just’ anything. Why limit yourself to what you were born to? I was born a painter’s son, yet now I am a king. What might the world be like had I was _just_ the son of an artist?”

“I assume I would be dead right now, so my world is improved.” Yanagi kneels at Yukimura's feet and lowers his head. “My liege.”

“Stand.” Yukimura takes Yanagi’s hand and helps him to his feet. “Come. Keep me company while all of this is dealt with. I find I’m very curious about what sort of apothecary learns to swing a sword like that.”

A smile teases at Yanagi’s lips. “I will, my lord.”

The two of them wander off toward the riverbank and sit side by side next to the water sharing stories until the sun sets, and both of their worlds grow a little bigger.

**Author's Note:**

> I have to admit, the mental image of Mizuki's head hanging from a belt is far more satisfying than it should be.


End file.
